


Bottom Jason Todd 2020 one-offs

by Irishgrlnextdoor



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Jason Todd, M/M, Mafia AU, More tags to be added, Nesting, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Jason Todd, Omega Verse, Prostitution, Sex for Favors, Size Difference, implied jason todd/rest of batfam, mafia, more tags in individual chapters, sort of prostitution anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irishgrlnextdoor/pseuds/Irishgrlnextdoor
Summary: Submissions for BJTW2020Chapter 1: Size difference, Jason/BaneChapter 2: Sex for Favors, Jason/Grant WilsonChapter 3: Mafia au, Jason/Grant Wilson + Slade Wilson-impliedChapter 4: Nesting (omegaverse), Jason/batfam --pure fluff*read warnings in chapters
Relationships: Bane/Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Grant Wilson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 147
Collections: Bottom Jason Todd Week 2020, Jason Rare Pair Challenge





	1. Size Difference Jason/Bane

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be a brief one shot and tags and pairing will be posted at the top. You do not have to read them all, or in any particular order

Some timeline play, this is set while Talia and Bane were hooking up (in Bane of the Demon) but I also crossed the timeline to have Jason newly risen, catatonic, and in Talia’s care at the same time. Bane does not know Jason’s identity as Robin, but happens upon him.

 **Warnings** : attempted rape/noncon, underage jason, catatonic jason, alludes to some talia/bane, inappropriate touching, inappropriate intentions with a minor, bamf Talia 

\--

He would have been prepared for assassins to be waiting for him to enter the bedchamber. At least that sort of thing, this deep in the League of Assissans, wouldn’t have even caused him to even blink in surprise before snapping a few necks in self-defense. Even the demon’s head himself standing in the middle of the rooms Bane had taken to staying in wouldn’t have taken him by such surprise. But then all those things would have been at least somewhat explainable within Talia’s private chamber. Expected to some degree.

The young man standing in the middle of Talia’s personal bedroom now was certainly no assassin, and he just looked… lost. It was the lack of response to Bane’s arrival that perhaps had given the large man pause in the first place. He could be quiet, but he had not been so to the point of entering without some noise, and he tended to receive immediate attention wherever he went. Whether due to his size or the static aura of violence and pain he carried about at all times that warned of danger, people could never help but to react to him in some measure.

The boy standing in the room did not cower. He did not present any challenge. He didn’t even act with the haughty indifference that Bane could anticipate from one of Al Ghul’s ilk. There was just complete unawareness of the hulking man now in the room with him. “What are you doing here, Child?” Bane demanded, waiting for whatever reaction might spring forth.

Nothing.

He cocked his head in question, because how could there be nothing at this point? He looked over the… adolescent, not as much a child as Bane had first assumed. Perhaps just a year or two off from adulthood in this corner of the world. He was so small and so still that it had escaped Bane’s first glance that he was corded with lean muscles despite his youth and size. His pale blue eyes were unseeing, but not so unfocused that Bane automatically assumed him to be blind. And still, he continued to stand there, just in the middle of the room, as if he had wandered in without knowing where he was and then just forgot to leave.

How was anyone like this in the middle of the league? In the middle of Talia’s room? Bane had been here for weeks. Had been her lover for most of that time. This boy had never appeared before now, but he was relaxed and calm as he stood in the midst of the room. A servant maybe?

Bane stepped closer, noting the garbs given to the boy were not those worn by the typical servants. His dressings were light and loose, and rather western in style vs. most of the league’s fashions. Loose pants hung off the boy’s small hips, but his shirt was a stretched jersey tank, worn loose enough to show the skin of his sides and some of the core muscles housed there. Not a servant. Perhaps a… a sex slave of some sort? Certainly Talia could keep such a thing if she wished, and he couldn’t think of any other reason for this fresh face to be standing in her room with his skin on display.

Bane tried again, moving close, growling in his throat, because that never failed to gain attention. “I’ll ask one more time, and then I’m done repeating myself. What are you doing here, Boy?”

Somehow… still nothing.

Not a blink, not a change in breathing. It was as though Bane had not entered the room at all.

He grabbed him, turning him around to face him forcefully, and still those eyes did not find him. Still there was no change in breathing. He was like a doll, but the skin of his shoulder was warm and firm despite the small size of it under Bane’s hand. “What sorcery is this?” Bane murmured, giving another hard assessment of the boy that came no higher up than Bane’s own abdomen and likely weighed less than his arm. He didn’t look any thicker than it in any case, scrawny as he was. The boy was roughly handsome, he noted dully, not in any obvert way but passively so. The kind of looks that took a second glance to take measure of. His hair was black, and his pale blue eyes were surrounded by curling thick lashes. In his humble opinion, the boy’s nose was stubby, but his lips and jaw were sculpted nicely. Bane didn’t fault anyone their imperfections, but he became more curious, because if this boy really was here as a sex slave, surely Talia would have kept better for herself.

None of his assessments were meant out of cruelty as opposed to simple honesty. He was nothing himself that he would ever consider beautiful, but he was incredibly strong, and very capable, and –what most failed to realize about him- rather gifted in mind. As far as he could see it, that was what she seemed to favor of the bat as well, but this boy seemed to lack any of those traits.

Bane reached out and took the lad’s square jaw in his palm, cupping it along with half his face in just his one hand. The boy allowed the touch, no closer to realization that he wasn’t alone than before. Bane rubbed a testing thumb across the boy’s lower lip, pulling it down just a bit, and that mouth parted for him without resistance. So passive. Perhaps there was a charm in that that Talia could enjoy somehow? Puffs of hot humid air ghosted over his thumb, and Bane further tested, chancing a bite to slip it in past the barrier of teeth, seeking that heat source.

No change in the boy’s face, his jaw only opening a little wider. His soft, heated tongue allowed Bane’s thumb to rest upon it, but did not move to either encourage or fight.

Just a doll, Bane mused to himself. Somehow human, and still just a doll.

“Can you speak?” he tried again, softer.

No change. He didn’t expect one, hadn’t even removed his thumb- leaving it for the young man to try to speak around. That tongue never so much as twitched.

“Can you kneel?” Bane tried instead, wondering what good this boy could possibly be if he couldn’t even do anything.

The younger man lowered himself, half to his surprise, and Bane’s digit slipped from that lax mouth as a kneeling position was taken up. It wasn’t done quickly, but almost like a sleepwalker, slow, and cut off from actual intent of the person’s own will, merely following suggestion.

Down on his knees, looking smaller and more docile than ever… Bane’s brow cocked at the marginal appeal. He was a lamb, hapless and harmless, at the mercy of the world.

At the mercy of Bane’s might.

Still those sculpted lips were parted, and Bane couldn’t help but stir just a bit at the suggestiveness of their current position, of the absolute power imbalance between them. A passing fancy, but there all the same. He considered, briefly, how possessive Talia might be of her toys. She had not been so as of yet, and he had seen her spare no love nor second thought for any servant kept by her or her father.

He reached out again, and this time his touch was firmer, clasping the back of that small neck, forcing that small head to tilt back just a bit. Those pale eyes looked right through him.

His other hand was firm as well, this time his index and middle fingers pushing in past the lax jaw, warmed instantly by the lad’s breath, and slicked on the underside by that passive tongue. He pushed them in to the back, giving an experimental jab back there.

The first response yet, the lad winced and there was a light pressure against the hand holding his neck that told Bane he would have leaned back if allowed. He did not allow. Not yet.

He instead tried again, a little firmer and a couple times in faster succession, shoving his fingers in and out, pressing deeper at the boy’s throat, forcing his mouth to stretch wide around his knuckles.

There was gagging, and the tongue started to move, started to resist. The lad squirmed to pull back. Bane didn’t let him go, holding firm, but not applying any pain.

He could feel that throat convulsing around his fingers, hot and squeezing and- ay dios mio, tightening. It was such a tight fit, in fact, that he wasn’t sure that jaw would even manage to part wide enough to allow anything else, and Bane certainly had bigger things to offer if…

He was stiff now, cock tenting the fabric of his own pants, not too far above the hand that was currently working in and out of the passive lad’s open mouth. His open throat. He was squirming, but he wasn’t biting. Would he not?

Bane hooked his fingers down over that spongy hot tongue, pressing down, pressing back. It caused gagging, but the boy’s head was trapped from turning away, from pulling back, and he took it. To further test, he purposely drove his fingers in deep, cutting off the main airway, and then let go of the neck long enough to pinch the lad’s nose, taking away his last source of air-

The bite came, hard and instinctive, and the lad broke out in a fury of movement. His squirms became panicked twists and trashes, and his limp hands came up to push and claw at Bane’s thighs through his pant legs like an animal clawing out of a trap.

Bane released him with a curse in Spanish, but he wasn’t actually injured.

The lad fell back on the ground, coughing for air, trembling, pale eyes wide in panic as he tried to breathe, but still unseeing of his surroundings. Something about being trapped, unable to breathe, had pulled him out of his fog into a full out panic for a moment there.

So if he was just mindful of the lad’s air intake, which would be hard, but not impossible, he could maybe-

“What are you doing?”

Bane turned towards the doorway, to face that low demand. Talia stood there. His lover was beauty personified, and the scathing scowl on her face did not diminish that in the slightest. Green eyes full of accusation and ire were fixed upon him, and there was a tenseness to her that suggested her guard was up.

Against him though? He couldn’t imagine why. The slave was not hurt, and he did not mean her any harm either. “Love-

Before he could get out anything more than that first endearment meant to ease her tension, Talia was coming into the room, bypassing him like he was no threat to her after all, and- to his surprise, kneeling next to the lad, assessing him instead.

Was he somehow not a servant then? Bane allowed himself to critically take in her interaction with the strange boy as she looked over the state of his dress and the state of his breathing, already returned to normal. The boy merely continued to lay upon the floor under her hand, which pet through his black curls once in assurance and… fondness perhaps?

“Who is this boy?”

Talia turned back towards him, and while every movement of hers was slow and controlled, overly so, there was a deep burning in her stare that promised vengeful wrath if he stepped wrong. Bane was not afraid of her. He didn’t need his venom to overpower her, but he knew also just how dangerous she was, both in the short and long term if he thought her anger was something to ignore or dismiss. “He is one that you will never touch again. Leave us.”

That was no answer, and Bane might not be able to get one from the lad, but he held his ground with the demon’s daughter. “He is yours? He is not a servant… is this possibly one of Ra’s failed offspring?” Another thought occurred to him and he hesitated, throat going dry now. “Or perhaps… one of your own?”

The lad didn’t look anything like Talia, or Ra’s, but what else could this boy be that would warrant anything like this reaction from her? There was a piece of puzzle here he wasn’t seeing. He took a step closer, as if he could find it now if he searched, wanting another, closer look at the lad, but Talia was up, and her hand stung his cheek, moving faster than he could track. Usually a slap wasn’t enough to hurt him, but between her skills and the fact that it had come from _her_ , he was taken aback momentarily.

“Get out!” she demanded again, eyes blazing green.

Rage overtook him, old familiar rage rising up against her own like fire seeking fire. She saw it, moving back to try to take up stance enough to defend against that fire that she had invoked. Bane stepped forward, and stumbled, just a little, shocked as his head snapped down to find the source.

The boy had moved. Of his own volition, he had kicked out at Bane’s leg as it had moved forward towards Talia in aggression, tripping him up for just a moment. He was still once more now, but his foot still rested guiltily upon Bane’s own, and there was something around the edges of that blank pale stare that almost whispered of life, of a mind.

It was an enigma, the likes of which even The Riddler would strain to piece together. Who was this boy?

“Get out,” Talia snarled again, the last time she would warn him.

Bane considered the possibilities.

It deserved further investigation, but he could be patient. He was not here to vacation with his new lover, after all. He was making plans with Ra’s for a return to Gotham, to bring with them a new plague to unleash, and he was also using the man’s resources to find information in tracking down his father’s identity. He had bigger things to focus upon, but this was indeed… curious. He shelved this puzzle for the moment, turning away to set his attention back to where it would do him the most good. A servant’s identity could not be his obsession. Nor Talia, for that matter.

For all her history with the bat, and all her love for him, the man still did not love her in return, not in the way that she could be used to break him.

He turned and made his exit with a huff through his nose. He was still bent upon breaking the bat. He had failed that once already, snapping his spine, but the bat had returned even from that. Unbreakable. But there had to be another way, and Bane would someday find it. He only needed to get his hands on a weakness of the bat. 


	2. Jason/Grant prostitution (sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason Todd and Grant Wilson (first born of Deathstroke) have an arrangement between them, trading favors for information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-cannon: changes made: Grant Wilson is alive again, and the same age as Jason in this, they both were returned from the dead during the same cosmic comic event. The knew each other before their deaths as sidekicks for their 'fathers'.

warning tags: sex for favors, smut, momentary lapse of ongoing consent- does get addressed, jason todd doesnt like feeling high, daddy issues, canon divergence, rare-pair

\--

Grant Wilson cut the engine of his Harley just outside of the alleyway entrance of one of his safe-houses. He loved the powerful engine, but it roared and echoed off the buildings terribly beyond a certain point and here wasn’t much use in a safe house if everyone could hear it every time he came and went. He pushed it along on foot between the backsides of the downtown buildings, and as soon as the darkness accepted him into its bosom he became all but invisible in the alley, neither his matt black and grey bike nor his matching mercenary armor fighting against it.

He slipped into the freight elevator of one of the older buildings and, once his bike was propped up on its kicks, he swung open the secret panel he had put in behind the actual elevator panel that he had covered up with an ‘out of order’ sign when he had first established this spot for himself. The real panel set behind it all accepted his bypass codes and the lift started moving down to basement level.

Grant took off the Ravager helmet, setting it on the back of his bike and just taking a moment to enjoy breathing without a mask on, feeling air in his sweaty hair like a lover’s fingers raking through it. His enjoyment was cut short, because as soon as he caught sight of a pair of boots coming into view within his safe house through the elevator gating his guard snapped into overdrive and his gun was drawn. In under a second, and he dropped down on his side and aimed right at chest level.

He had nearly fired, but that red helmet was clearly visible and recognizable even in the dim lighting that was given off by the security monitors Grant had set up.

Useless security monitors, apparently.

Grant pulled his aim to a less lethal shoulder shot, but kept the gun level anyway… because you just never knew with a bat, even an ex bat. And there was always a chance who he was looking at wasn’t even the Red Hood at all under that helmet.

The Red Hood spread his hands in greeting- also to show he wasn’t holding a gun himself. That meant very little in their line of work, especially if this was indeed Jason Todd. “This any way to welcome a guest? Making them wait… pulling a gun on them… making your beer harder to find than the safe house itself… seriously Fucker, where are you keeping it?”

Grant could at least figure it was indeed Jason under there. He tried not to let the meager relaxation it caused in his guard to show in his stance, but gave no reply other than lifting himself back up on his feet- gun kept up- until the freight elevator came to a full stop at the bottom. The gate stood as the last barrier between them. “How the fuck did you get in here, Todd?”

Jason snorted and even through the voice modulator of his hood Grant could tell he was trying to drop down his volume. “I’m Batman.”

Grant didn’t laugh. He did lower his gun however, just a bit, enough for Jason to know it was trained on his knee rather than his shoulder. Also not lethal. More painful.

Another snort, but this one softer, more willing to believe his threat. Not enough to be worried about it, however, and Grant wanted to snort himself for how catching the arrogance was between all the bats. No matter what Jason dressed himself up as these days, still and always a bat. Wearing the symbol across his chest even as he mocked it because it was just that inescapable.

Hypocrite, Grant’s mind hissed at himself, reminding him of the many similarities between his own armor and that of his father’s. There was something to be said for branding, he guessed.

Jason shrugged before reaching up and taking his own helmet off, shaking out the black tresses of his messed hair. A red domino mask still hid his eyes behind white lenses, but Grant could imagine their teal color just the same as they met his slate-blue ones. “There’s not a single computer code that my cohorts can’t hack their way through. Trust me, I’ve tried everything from quantum computing to Barbie’s Dream Journal and they can get into it all.”

Grant wanted to call bullshit, having modeled it after one of his father’s old security systems, but there was no other way down here other than the lift, he had made sure of that. “So you just stand here waiting for me in the darkness like some creeper? Like some… some bat?”

“What’s creepy is whipping your gun out on me without so much as a howdy-do and standing in the lift holding it for another twenty minutes without breaking eye contact. Now you _really_ owe me that beer.” Jason rebuked, crooked grin pulling up the corner of his mouth. “By the way, did your daddy never tell you to have more than one entrance and exit? Your safe-house set up is-

Grant bristled. “ _Your_ daddy obviously never taught you about the Battle of Thermopylae between the Spartans and the Persians. Nor about foxhunting. The best way to kill a fox is to drive him out the back of his den into a waiting ambush, and I’m not afraid to fight my way out if I ever have to.”

Jason’s lip quirked up in something almost approving. “Yeah? That’s kind of how I figured I’d play this too if I absolutely had to.”

“What do you want, Todd.?” Grant huffed, forcing them both to get to the point, shoving back the gate of the lift because it wouldn’t stop either of them anyway if a fight actually broke out.

That small smile lifted a little wider. “I came for information. The big bat is apparently trying to protect an official back in Gotham that your Daddy Dearest picked up a contract on and I thought maybe-

“You think our agreement is still in place after all these months?”

A small drop in the smile, so small that Grant almost missed it. He had seen it, however, and he had a hard time pretending he wasn’t just a little glad to get any reaction at all after being otherwise ignored for the last four months.

Jason’s voice was still full of bravado, but there was a small hesitation underlying it. “Kind of caught me with my dick out hoping so now. I guess, yeah. You never complained before when it was going the other way for you. If we need to renegotiate the terms just say the word… I did bring my own guns with me after all.”

This time Grant gave a snort, amused. He found it hard not to be amused by Jason most of the time, honestly, but it sure was fun to fuck with him after he had so smugly broken into the safe house. Grant dropped the last of his tension, letting it all go. Actually… Jason’s presence tonight was fairly well-timed, because he had energy yet to burn, and fuck or fight- both were usually a fairly good time with Todd involved. He stepped inside. “I guess I can honor our old deal tonight. I’ll show you where I hide that beer.”

X

The little army cot kept in the far corner of the room where it was darkest cried out in protesting squeaks with every hard thrust upon it. Grant didn’t understand how it hadn’t broken already, but he ignored all its protests regardless. He pulled his hips back and drove forward at an almost reckless pace, all focus simply on fucking both their brains out.

Jason wasn’t complaining any, thick legs wrapped around Grant’s narrow hips, pulling him in on each thrust like he couldn’t get enough as the cot wobbled dangerously beneath him. Grants knees were on fire despite the padding built into his suit where he knelt on the concrete next to the damn thing, but he wasn’t bitching either, and neither of them were about to stop.

Grant doubted they would even if the cot _did_ break.

Jason was flushed all over, half his clothing abandoned around the safehouse. He still retained one of his socks, and his shirt was still caught wrapped around one of his wrists where it had tangled in his haste to get it off. The domino mask had somehow remained. Grant’s upper body was bare and coated in sweat, his suit pushed down around his hips just to free up his dick, which was finding new housing within Jason’s ass.

“Fuck- you’re so fucking tight. Just like the first time we did this.”

Jason gave a catching laugh through the trusts, only causing him to tighten even more and Grant had to pause to not shoot his shot before he was ready.

“Don’t get fucking nostalgic on me, Wilson, that isn’t a road either of us like going down, and this isn’t anything like back then when we were both 14 and exchanging hand jobs for homework answers while muttering ‘no homo’ under our breaths. This is way better!”

Fuck that had been so long ago, before either of them had died. Before either of them had come back on that same auspicious night due to some unknown cosmic force, neither aware of the other’s fate until years after. And then they had pretty much picked up where they had left off, except now it was whoring themselves to each other for information exchanges about their father’s businesses rather than trivial science or literature projects.

Grant sometimes swore he could still recall just how wrecked both his ass and dick had been after paying off Jason for writing his book report on Watership Down for him. Worth it. Forever worth it.

Grant continued to grind his hips against Jason, appreciating how the move cause him to arch and groan, head falling back against the cot for a moment. It brought the span of his torso to Grant’s attention, that thick musculature on full display, muscles clenching with every movement. Grant let his hand drift up over Jason’s abs, feeling the muscles shifting with each needy cant of his hips up to meet Grant’s own. He touched higher up, palming the tight muscle of Jason’s peck, firmer than any breast Grant had ever grabbed on a gal, but skin still soft. Even higher up, over the collar bones to that arching span of throat. Grant gripped Jason there, and the other man immediately jerked beneath him in surprise in a way that went straight to his dick. He was careful, squeezing the sides rather than the front so there was still the sensation of breathlessness for Jason rather than any actual choking. Even so, Jason still brought a hand up to hang onto Grant’s wrist.

“Grant,” Jason gasped, his name just a little slurred through unblocked gasps as Jason’s body started to gain a natural high from the blood supply Grant was pinching off from his brain at the sides of his neck. “Don’t-

Grant didn’t let go, not yet, it was getting him so hard to feel Jason’s pulse fluttering in his hand and the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard. He could still breathe, and the feeling of being high had to be making what they were doing feel even better for him, so Grant assumed he’d be begging in a minute to continue on.

Instead, Jason gripped his wrist harder, and tried to shove it off. The weakness in his attempt told Grant exactly how effected he was already from it. “Fucking don’t-

“Does it hurt?” Grant asked, slowing his thrusts just a bit.

“Grant!” Jason growled out, enough warning to show he was serious now, and Grant removed his hand as if it had been burned.

Still, he had been enjoying the act, and he frowned in confusion as to what Jason’s problem could possibly be. When those strong legs eventually tried to pull his hips back in to go back to thrusting, he resisted. “What the fuck was wrong? Our deal has always been anything the other person wants in exchange for the information- short of bodily harm. Did it hurt or not? I liked-

“I don’t want to feel fucking high okay?” Jason snapped, something just a little too close to fear lacing the edge of his voice, stopping short Grant’s complaints. “I don’t like it okay? I’d rather put up with the pain of actually being choked out. I don’t like- I don’t like feeling high like that. I don’t fuck around with drugs for a reason!”

There was a lot being left unsaid there, it was obvious. Jason’s legs pressed at Grant again after a moment, but he again hesitated to continue, worried again that he had somehow actually hurt Jason, but in a different sort of way. It was clear there was a lot still unknown between them.

_Fuck it_ , his brain prompted him, _you got your own secrets, let him have his. You can respect that much can’t you?_

Yeah. Yeah he could.

Grant shook his head to clear it and refocused instead on the heat of Jason and the squeeze of that tight ass all around him, even tighter than before because of how tense Jason had become.

He started to move his hips, trying to regain that pace from before.

Jason remained tense beneath him.

When it became clear he wasn’t moving on despite his prior insistence for Grant to keep going, Grant came to another jilted stop over top of him.

“What?” Jason asked, playing dumb as if he couldn’t feel the shift just as clearly as Grant could. Clearer even.

Grant let out a huff of air to reign himself in a little better, trying to focus a little sharper as he backed off. “I appreciate how tight you are, but I’m not crazy about it being the kind of tense like you think I might deck you or something. I- I should have let go the first time you said no. So… sorry about that shit, I guess,” he muttered, cheeks reddening awkwardly. “If it killed the mood- or whatever- we can just stop. I’ll still tell you what little I know about what my old man is up to these days.”

At first Jason almost looked affronted that Grant had stopped and called him out on his obvious discomfort. Then there was a second-hand consideration that Grant had actually called himself out on his blatant mis-step, and offer to stop altogether. What finally settled across Jason’s face, however, was a far more familiar, far more casual crooked little grin. “Do I look like I back out of my part when I make a deal? Just don’t do that choking thing again. You can make it up to me by turning me over. That way I don’t have to look at your dumb face when I cum,” he tacked on, sounding more full of it than ever.

Grant rolled his eyes, but was eager to comply and get them back on track as Jason relaxed once more. He helped him to turn over on the little cot, knees on the ground in front of Grant’s and his torso draped across the top of the rough material. Grant knew he’d have to be quick before the concrete killed Jason’s unprotected knees like it was already trying to do to him.

Play through the damn pain- echoed a voice in his head that sounded far too close to his father’s.

Grant re-positioned himself, and basked in both the heat that took him back in as well as the whiny little grunt that Jason made at being reentered. It sounded so like the noise he had made the first time they had ever done this, Jason the first one between them brave enough to agree to bottom. Grant hadn’t even realized how cute he thought that sound was until he heard it again, resisting the urge to drape himself over Jason’s back and hold him a little closer.

Fuck it, the cot would deal. He pressed in deep and wrapped his arms around the front of Jason’s chest and shoulders, pulling him back so he could get even deeper still, until Jason was right at the base of his cock and whispering desperate little curses under his breath.

“Shit Grant, move!”

Grant didn’t have to be told twice, driving into Jason hard and fast as if they had never paused in their momentum at all. His hips slapped up against Jason and every noise the other man made sounded all but knocked from his lips with each harsh thrust. Grant’s grip tightened to bruising just to keep Jason from falling forward against the wall.

Grant hadn’t realized he had started mouthing at Jason’s shoulder and neck until his cries started to grow louder, clearly liking what he was getting. Upon realizing, Grant tongued at the salty skin until he pinpointed the spot that always had Jason shuddering as he cried out, and then he latched on, sucking hard as he swiped his tongue over that one particularly special spot just behind his jaw.

“Fuck!” Jason cried out, reaching down under himself to frantically palm his own dick. Grant could feel it only taking a few pumps of his fist, and then Jason was crying out and bucking underneath him to the point that hanging on tight was more important just so he didn’t get tossed off. Grant groaned hard against Jason’s neck as he felt that ass tightening up around him in quick little pulses along with the man’s release, and Jason gave another shudder at the feel like it had just rocked him down to his bones. Grant came hard, finally having to let go of Jason’s neck to cry out his own orgasm as his cock spurted and throbbed.

They collapsed together, half draped over the little cot, and now that Jason knew where this safe house was Grant considered moving in a small bed instead. That, however, was something to consider at a different time. For now, there was only the panting of their bodies and the tremors of their exhausted muscles.

Or so Grant thought anyway, but Jason was trying to interrupt that despite his own fatigue. “Okay… pay up…” he panted, voice thickening with the desire to nod off, trying to get the information he had come- literally- for before he did. “Any idea what your old man is planning? When he’s going to Gotham?”

“Ten minutes,” Grant protested with a growl. “Right now I can’t even remember what his fucking name is. Ten minutes.”

Jason slumped under him, but the only argument Grant got was a very gruff, “Five minutes.”

X

Jason swung down on his grapple towards the rooftop that bullets were flying around on in pursuit of the Dark knight. He hoped none of them came his way, still unnoticed for the moment by either Deathstroke or Batman as he took aim and fired a rubber bullet for the distracted mercenary. He managed to hit his target just as the gun leveled on Bruce. The rubber bullet hit the back of Slade’s hand, knocking the gun from his grip just before Jason hit the slab of roof.

Batman was legendary with his quickness, both physical and mental as he reassessed the situation in a microsecond and charged in to take advantage of the chance he’d been given.

Down below Jason could assume the target was hiding out for Batman to return. He intended to get them that relief just a little faster, knowing that this time Slade was working a contract on an innocent and important witness to one of Black Mask’s crimes. He hit the roof running, taking Slade’s back to help split his attention between the two of them. In the midst, Batman concentrated on the battle at hand, but Jason could tell by the firm line of B.’s mouth as he ducked under Deathstroke’s blade that he would get an earful of ‘I didn’t need your help’ or something to that effect right after.

For now, they focused, and did a fair job between them of wearing down Deathstroke’s endurance as he was forced to turn his attention back and forth as they would move in and out almost in tandem of each other.

Jason only screwed up once, caught in the side of the head by a kick hard enough that it was a wonder it didn’t knock him out even with the helmet, but Batman was there in an instant to draw Slade away from inflicting further damage. Jason shook his head, realized that his lenses were broken and helmet cracked. He shoved it off and drew a different gun from his thigh-holster. He aimed just as Batman managed to trip the other man, and when Slade went into a roll to recover Jason fired directly into his momentarily unguarded leg, dart sinking into the back bend of his knee where the armor was sacrificed for mobility. Slade growled through his own helmet, turning to throw his dagger. It narrowly missed Jason, cutting his jacket.

Slade was up a second later… and then faltering, his hit leg giving out underneath of him. “The hell-

“I knew who I’d be shooting tonight. I planned accordingly,” Jason snorted. “Enough in that dart to knock out a fucking rhino.”

Slade’s glare stayed fixed on Jason as he dropped to both knees, and Batman crept in closer, wary of any last efforts he would put up. Jason almost felt it like a pinch when that one stone-blue eye locked on the exposed side of his neck, just above the collar of his top. He actually had to fight down the urge to cover the hickey he knew was just barely visible.

Did Slade know? Paranoia had been drilled deep within him. Was that why he wouldn’t stop looking at it, even as he was forced to catch himself on his hands as well. Was he maybe just picturing slicing through it to cut off Jason’s head?

Jason relaxed just a little as Slade finally dropped, and Bruce moved in to cuff him. They’d get him in route to Blackgate asap, but Jason wasn’t willing to bet that the drugs would keep him knocked out until then. He’d likely never make it there.

“I didn’t need your help,” Bruce’s growl cut in through his thoughts.

Of course not. “Yeah, well that wasn’t what you were saying back when I fucking told you what night Deathstroke would be arriving in Gotham. I’ll just add it to your ongoing tab of things you owe me a thank you for.”

Bruce hardly spared him a glance, but his lip actually curled just a little in the corner. “If we’re actually tallying, then you owe me several thank yous.”

Jason bristled. “For what?:” he demanded.

“For classifying information rather than addressing it.”

“What information?

Bruce finished cuffing Slade’s wrists and ankles, sending a ping to alert the GCPD so they could come do a transport while he saw to the re-homing of the witness. “Tell Grant to watch the visible marks next time.”

Jason’s bravado left him in an instant, freezing up in disbelief and apprehension. Bruce knew. “How the fuck did you-

“I’m Batman,” Bruce reminded him.

X

It was three days later that Jason answered a knock on the side entrance of his own safe house, not even a little surprised to see Grant standing there. Turned out the tranquilizers hadn’t held all the way to Blackgate, as Jason had predicted. Slade had busted out of the Transport bus while in route, and hadn’t been locatable ever since.

Jason smirked because he already knew what Grant wanted. He had moved back to this safe house just that morning _because_ Grant knew about this one.

“Any idea where your old man might have moved my father’s target?” Grant grinned.

Jason grinned back. “I might. Come in, we can negotiate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my discord support


	3. Jason/Grant+Slade mafia au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don Bruce Wayne has had it with the mysterious Red Hood affecting his operations. He sends the Wilsons' to deal with the problem... to his deep regret.

Warning tags for chapter: rape, noncon, rough sex, roughing up, violence, trauma, jason/grant wilson, implied Jason/slade wilson, mafia au, rare-pair, filmed sex, bruce is forced to watch- sort of, regrets. 

Except for me, I have no regrets. 

* * *

Don Wayne didn’t look up when his consigliere entered his private office. Alfred had such a presence for the don that looking up was next to pointless; he was as aware of his life-long confidant as he was his own right hand. There was no question of having to look to see where he was or what task he was carrying out for him. Alfred waited patiently at the door for Bruce to reach a pause point, back straight and flawlessly proper. He had with him what had to be an update regarding one of Don Bruce Wayne’s most pressing concerns of late.

The Don knew all this without ever even looking up, but when he did he found himself 100% correct in his assumption. As soon as Alfred had his complete focus he stepped forward and placed the sealed envelope he carried with him in front of the Don on his desk. “The matter of the Hood disturbance has been seen to, as you requested. The Wilson's send their regards and hope you enjoy their work, Master Bruce.”

Bruce ran his fingertips over the paper of the envelope, able to feel a disk inside. He shouldn’t be surprised they had succeeded in their task, especially this quickly. That was the reason he had hired them in the first place. Their astronomical fees were what they were because any job they took on was no less than guaranteed to be carried out.

“Very good. I will review it later.”

“Will that be all then, Sir?”

Bruce considered, glancing up to Alfred. “I specified they were not to kill in this job, but to punish and humiliate. Do you know if they kept to that?”

“Their word was given, but I have not reviewed the tape they have submitted as proof of their work.”

If their word had been given, as much as that meant to them… Bruce leaned back in his desk chair, assured, and at ease. “Go ahead and send their full payment.”

“Very well, Sir.”

With that matter settled, Bruce relaxed just a little more and turned his focus back to reviewing the incoming shipments of guns he had coming to Gotham in just two nights. Those guns were going to be needed in the upcoming months, Bruce teaming with Dent’s gang against the Falcone and Maroni gangs. It was planned down to the smallest detail. Bruce would be there, and Dick would be running petty disturbances downtown at the same time with some of their men to keep the police occupied.

For the past month, however, it seemed no job- however meticulously planned- could seem to go off without a hitch. A meddlesome, red-hooded hitch. The vigilante had come into Gotham out of nowhere. No one knew who he was, why he was targeting the gangs with his one-man shit-storm, or how he obtained all his detailed knowledge of how they tended to operate. No gang was as targeted and dogged as Bruce’s own by the man.

Thus he had brought in the best, because simply crushing this pebble in his shoe was not enough. He didn’t want this man- this phantom- to just be killed off. He wanted him to go on living with the fear of God put into him, that to mess with Don Wayne was to dance with the Devil himself.

He ran his fingers over the folder once more, satisfied that even as he sat in the broken-in executive chair that the deed was already done, and the Red Hood would never again dare to take up that dance of the damned against him.

X

Bruce was shaking.

Trembling.

Don Bruce Wayne was _trembling_.

It wasn’t something he was used to doing, but he was doing so now, blue eyes fixed wide on the paused image on the large screen in front of him in the theater room of Wayne Manor. His champagne glass lay at his feet, completely forgotten as it soaked the carpet. His blood was frozen. Was his heart even beating, or had that stopped too? The whole world had stopped, frozen along with that image on the big-screen.

The face filling the frame was twisted in both anger and pain, flushed red, and those teal eyes burned even through the film. The rage and humiliation were laid bare there, as naked as the rest of the young man’s body.

The camera had been brought close enough to that expression to make it clear to Bruce that it wasn’t a stranger that he was looking at. That expression was too familiar, even with the bruises, split lip, and blood covering half his face from a cut above his eye that hadn’t yet swollen from the hit he had taken minutes before. He knew this man. This ghost from his past. The second the red helmet had been removed from him… Bruce had gone cold.

His lost son, Jason.

You’re wrong, his mind screamed at him, because it just couldn’t be.

And yet…

Captured, contained, stripped, and beaten, it was his son, older and heavy with newly gained muscle, but undoubtably his Jason. His Jay-lad.

And he was the only one who knew, the Wilsons unaware as they carried out Bruce’s orders before his horrified eyes on the screen.

He had watched Slade and his son Grant moving together in almost telepathic synchrony to work over the young man on his knees between them until he was beaten black and blue, and Bruce was fairly certain at least one of his ribs were cracked, and his left arm was dislodged, tied back behind himself were there was no hope of resetting it anytime soon.

But then they had moved on from the beating, when Jason was just on the verge of blacking out from the trauma of the pain. Bruce had watched his son get re-positioned- tossed about with all the care of an already broken toy- laid out on his back, and then Slade’s boy, Grant, had moved between his legs while Slade took hold of the camera and Bruce had nearly blacked out himself. His grip on his arm rests was a crushing one, but he didn’t even feel the pain stinging up his hands were the polished wood was digging in.

He had paused the film on the moment his son’s violation had started, and those glaring eyes would forever haunt him, but he didn’t know if he could bare to look away. He wanted to stop, to turn it off, destroy the disc, put hits out on the Wilson’s both.

He wasn’t foolish enough to do the last one, and he wasn’t disrespectful enough to do the rest. This was his doing. His fault, and Jason- his son returned from the dead like an avenging angel, hadn’t been given the privilege of stopping what had been done to him. Turning away, pausing, or destroying evidence of it afterwards had not been allowed to him, so Bruce felt his only atonement to be to share this punishment with him. So he forced himself to shift the remote with a trembling hand and press play, hoping that maybe he could at least get some sense of where this was taking place. To learn where his son had been.

The image came back to life, and Jason gritted out a strangled cry through his teeth, trying to hold it back, but the pain was still clear on his face. His whole body was flushed with it, and the younger Wilson shoved his hips forward. No prep, no lube.

Bruce felt the bile in his throat, and his heart was pounding once again because he could hear it like it was right behind his ears. That and his son’s cries, animalistic in their suffering, were both amplified until they were both blaring through his skull. Jason screamed. He screamed outright when Ravager began rocking in and out of him without pity. Ravager gave little keening grunts as he made room for himself in Jason’s body like it was truly enjoyable. “Oh fuck, Hood. You’re fucking tight! Am I popping your pretty little cherry by pounding this ass? That’s okay, the blood will help it if so, you’re already slicking up nicely for me.”

Jason cried out again, full of pain, but even more full of rage, and Bruce watched as he shot up in a power-curl, catching Grant in the face with his forehead. Grant cursed, recoiled, and then backhanded Jason hard enough to knock him back down. Bruce watched as the camera circled around them, and then Slade’s boot came into view as it stepped down on Jason’s dislocated shoulder to keep him there.

Jason screamed, kicking and writhing to try to escape all the pain.

If there was any way for Bruce to stop it, or take it back… but this had to have happened hours ago. Who knew where Jason was now, or what kind of shape he had been left in? This might be Bruce’s only way of knowing, so even as his stomach turned and his eyes grew hot from building tears, he watched, wishing Jason’s struggles would actually work to earn him freedom, knowing they would not. Not against the Wilsons. Not when they had been hired to make him suffer. Hired to make him fear.

As Grant started thrusting again at a pace meant to punish, and Jason made choked noises around each one, it was Slade’s voice coming from the other side of the camera that made Bruce want to wretch. “Remember Boy, this is still The Boss going easy on you. You’ve fucked his business one time too many. Consider this a return of the favor. Nearly as good as his own dick being inside you right now.”

Jason glared up at Slade from where he was pinned to the floor with such vile hatred, growling through his grunts of pain as Ravager leaned back and changed the angle to start enjoying himself again, letting go of Jason’s hips to arrogantly bring his hands up behind his head to pillow it, just to further drive home to Jason how caught he was just between Grant’s cock and his father’s armored boot.

Every snarl and grunt and gritted groan of pain twisted the knife in Bruce’s chest harder. He cataloged them all, but he could not dwell, because Jason’s torture wasn’t over, and he just had to know what it was that he had done to his long-lost son. The evils he had set against him without knowing. It changed nothing of what the Red Hood had done to Bruce’s wheeling and dealing, and yet it changed everything when it came to the Don’s vengeance .

He held none, not from the moment his son’s face had come into view. He could forgive it. All of it. His forgiveness, however, was unable to reach back through time and space, and neither of the hired men felt anything of the sort as they continued to carry out their job. The relief Jason felt as Slade stepped off his shoulder was short-lived, Slade moving around to his side with the camera, giving Bruce a bird’s eye view of his son’s flushed and beaten body. The entire view blurred and jerked with sudden movement as Slade’s boot kicked hard into Jason’s side, forcing the young man to curl in that direction. Grant not only allowed him to roll, but assisted further, grabbing Jason’s hips again and guiding him all the way onto his knees despite Jason’s choked gasps for the air the kick had knocked out of him. It was followed by a horrid retching sound as his breath returned to him, and Bruce thought for sure for a moment that Jason had heaved by the way his spine jerked in the camera’s view.

There was no vomit. As the camera moved further back to stand over Grant’s shoulder he couldn’t see any anyway. Jason’s broad back and presented ass became the new focus instead on the screen.

Bruce found himself silently shaking his head, as if that could do anything to call off this madness.

Grant reburied himself in Jason’s body, and the arch and cry that Jason gave this time was still full of pain… but it was laced with something else towards the end. That something that it was laced with caused Jason to tense all over and try to turn his head so that his face wasn’t in the view of the camera, hands fisted where they were tied at the small of his back.

Grant laughed. Slade chuckled darkly.

“Liked that one at least a little, didn’t you?” Grant jeered, driving himself in again at the same angle. Jason jerked and gasped, but refused to make another sound like before. He had to assume that the video they were making would makes its way back to Bruce, that he had to have been the ‘boss’ that had hired them, unnamed in the video- just in case. Jason tried to remain silent; and Grant only tried harder because of this. He slammed into Jason, but with each failure to pull another groan from Jason’s resistant lips the pace grew more and more punishing. The restraint Jason had was admirable, though Bruce wished he would cry out just to save himself some margin of pain. Then the camera moved again. Slade moved to Grant’s other shoulder, camera focusing in on the visible side of Jason’s face and even Bruce could see the far-away look that had glazed over Jason’s usually fiery teal eyes.

That was good. Bruce gulped hard, hoping his son could stay in that state for this. Stay somewhere far away from what was being done to him, cast out of his own body by his mind’s natural defenses.

Slade tried calling for him, also noticing it. “Red? Red. Get back here.”

No change.

There was a swift motion just off screen, and then the sound of a loud slap, and then Jason was back, screaming out before he could stop himself, twisting and squirming on the dirty stone floor. He whimpered in pain, before his body started jerking again with Grant’s thrusts. As soon as they started up again, Jason’s eyes tried to glaze over once more, but Slade wasn’t having it. This time Bruce saw it in the side of the camera’s view as the big man’s hand slapped down upon Jason’s ass cheek, leaving a second red hand print perfectly highlighted over the first one he had given him. Jason howled again.

“This is the least of what men get when they fuck with The Don, Red,” Slade hummed. “Mess with fire, expect to get burned. I’ll bet it’s burning quite a bit at this point.” The innuendo drew out another growled whimper from Jason.

Grant glanced back over his father from the punishing pace he was keeping up. “Not just for him, I’m starting to chafe myself a bit here.”

“So slick him back up. Finish inside and he’ll be plenty wet again.”

Jesus no.

But Bruce’s every plea in his head for mercy for his son went unheeded, and Grant made his finish obvious when the quick piston of his hips against Jason eventually faltered and he let out an obnoxiously victorious groan that filled the entire room. A noise so loud that it caused the audio of the camera to distort just a bit, and Jason recoiled, gritting his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut tight against what he must have felt inside.

“Fuck… would it be wrong of me to hope this guy’s stupid enough to fuck with the Don some more just so I can paint the inside of his ass all over again? Give it a nice second coat.”

Slade made some sort of grunt in the back of his throat, moving around to kneel down next to Jason’s face, bringing the camera in close enough for Bruce to make out the tear tracks around his eyes, his lashes made darker from being wet. “That would certainly be a special kind of stupid. What say you, Kid? Had enough?”

Please Jason, Bruce prayed, please just-

“F-fuck off,” Jason strained, barely able to get that much out. That same spirit. Bruce couldn’t be wrong about this man being his son. It was that same bravado that Bruce had always appreciated in his son, even at the peak of his frustrations with the lad. It was that spirit that had compelled Bruce to take the punk into his home in the first place.

Slade made a huff through his nose, similar to the frustrated noise that Bruce had made more than once when that insolence had been directed towards him in Jason’s former years. “A _very_ special kind of stupid. Fine, kid, we got plenty of time still.”

X

Bruce was _still_ trembling, even now in the car, aware that Alfred was speeding already, and still urging him every so often to drive even faster. Lightning speed would have been too slow for him at this point.

He had watched the video, all of it, as it went on for another 32 minutes and 16 seconds. Still it was playing through his mind, over and over again on repeat. Every detail of Jason’s surroundings standing out to him, because at the end of the video he had caught sight of a corner of a metal sign screwed into the wall of one of the halls the Wilson’s had made their exit from, leaving Jason broken on the floor behind them.

“ **…ER**

 **…rating Station.** ”

Bruce had deduced the abandoned “Gotham River Generating Station” to be their location, and had fetched Alfred in haste to drive him out there.

Maybe he wasn’t there anymore. Maybe Jason had regained consciousness and already dragged himself away. It would have been hours ago that this had occurred, nearly half a day. The chances of Jason remaining there if he had come to were slim to nil, but Bruce had to go, to see, because there was another possible outcome, that Jason hadn’t regained consciousness. That he had been too hurt by the Wilsons acting on Bruce’s order, and now he was-

“Faster Alfred, please,” Bruce stressed, heart skipping a beat as the old building sign for the generating station came into view. Just beyond it was the long-abandoned parking turn off, and the gates that had been left open, chains cut and left to dangle off of them uselessly thanks to the Wilsons.

Alfred turned in. “Might you finally tell me what has summoned you out here like a siren’s song in the dead of night, Master Bruce?”

He didn’t answer. What words could he possibly string together to explain? Right now it was a fight between his mind and his impulses to not open the door and jump from the moving car with the intent of sprinting straight to the building and seeking out the room with the sign, and possibly his son’s broken and used body, left to rot like so much trash. All his own doing. His fault. That battle alone consumed him for the moment, but then his eyes found and fixed on the back entrance that had been left open, and he knew where to start looking. “Alfred, there!”

The moment the car came to a stop Bruce was out, running ahead, only to have to wait for Alfred to catch up with the flashlight that they kept in the glove box for emergencies. The man tried to hurry, to his credit, and together they made their way inside.

It was probably another 14 minutes, even moving as swiftly as they were through the deserted corridors before finally Bruce caught sight of the doorframe and building sign that matched up to the video he had been given. He sprinted to it, ahead of the light, but he hardly felt he needed it now. The lights had been on before. The Wilsons had cut them all on the way out it seemed, but Bruce couldn’t be bothered to wait to look for any switches. After how closely he had taken in every detail of the room that had made it into the video’s background he almost felt he didn’t need them, like he had just spent the past couple hours in this room himself.

He stopped just inside, because just a few feet in front of him, if he was still there, would be Jason.

“Son?” Bruce gasped into the darkness, heart hammering in his chest.

Alfred’s echoing footsteps coming towards him were the only noises to fill the silence. Another time Bruce would have apologized for it, but he grabbed the elder man’s arm as soon as he entered the room, directing it to shine the light directly at the floor where his orders had been carried out in full.

There was no one.

It wasn’t as though nothing had been left behind, however.

Bruce stooped down, allowing Alfred to stand over him to spotlight the area. There were multiple bloodstains. Some just a few drops. Some small puddles. Other fluids too, Bruce’s nose wrinkling at the dried discoloration on the stone floor to indicate dried seamen stains. Jason had been left right here, but several of the stains looked like they had had something heavy dragged over the floor on top of them.

Unless the Wilson’s doubled back, Jason had to have dragged himself away sometime after they had gone.

But for all their searching, even in the dark, Bruce hadn’t seen any more blood out in the halls, or around the door as they had entered.

“Master Bruce, what-

He stood up, grabbed Alfred’s wrist again, and re-aimed the light in his grip further into the room.

For a moment all was still, and silent, and then Alfred gasped, and accidently dropped the light. “It can’t be.”

Bruce moved forward again, the light still shining on at least half of Jason’s broken and bare body where he had managed to drag it towards one of the windows. A shorter distance to the outside, to possible help, but he had lost consciousness again before succeeding. His concussion had to be very severe. Bruce dropped down next to his side, hands shaking as they paused right over the bruises and cuts covering Jason’s back. His front side would be even worse, but he only cared about checking one thing in that moment, and the rest could wait. He tucked his fingers in under his prone son’s jaw, and it felt like his own heart stopped as he waited to find Jason’s pulse or not.

It was there. He was alive. For all the silent prayers Bruce had made in the last several hours that had gone utterly ignored, he thanked anyone listening for granting him just this one.

Whatever Jason’s prior transgressions against him, they were forgiven, cleared. Whatever had driven him to begin his campaign against Bruce in secrecy, he would deal with. All that mattered was that Jason was alive, and Bruce had him back.

X

The Don stood in the doorway to Jason’s room at the hospital, where he had been taken upon being found two days prior. It was empty.

The nurses were running up and down the halls, calling the other floors, putting everyone on notice to watch out for a missing patient. Bruce’s hands balled into fists at his sides, knowing they wouldn’t manage to produce his missing son, who had vanished some time between being transferred here from critical care, and Bruce making his way up to the new room he had been transferred to on the 8th floor from the lobby. As weak and disoriented and damaged as his son had been, he shouldn’t have even been able to make his way to the end of the hall in that amount of time. But he was gone.

He would stay gone too, until he could regroup and either come back after Bruce’s business dealings, or decide to give it up, and relocate somewhere that he could stay gone for good. He had been impossible to find as the Red Hood, despite the best efforts of Bruce’s gang so Bruce knew he could pull either one off successfully.

Except for…

There were two that had found him before when he hadn’t wished to be found. Two that had managed to track down and capture the Red Hood on Bruce’s order. Bruce’s fists tightened until his short nails bit at the flesh of his palms. They could do it again, of that Bruce was sure, but how could he dare to send them after his son again?

Even on new orders to not harm him at all, how could he justify the trauma it would no doubt induce for his son after the last time. It was his fault, he knew that. He didn’t try to justify otherwise, carrying that blame because he absolutely deserved it, but his son was out there somewhere, and he had the means, however cruel, to find him. His attention never wavered from the empty hospital bed that had held his son only minutes before, even when Alfred’s voice spoke up from right next to him.

“Where could he have possibly gone? He still requires so much care. He could hurt himself walking about with-

“Alfred,” Bruce cut him off, numb as he made his decision. “Get in contact with the Wilsons. I will have my son returned to me.”


	4. Jason/batfamily-implied nesting omegaverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is the omega of his pack, and they are eager to assist him in building his nest. -fluff

tag warnings: fluff, omegaverse, nesting, implied relationships between Jason and Bruce.Dick.Tim.Stephanie.Cass.Duke. short drabble. 

slightly different take on pack dynamic, but nothing "New".

* * *

Jason sniffed at the pillow he held, breathing deep, nose right up against it. It smelled good. Traces of expensive cologne and shampoo, but mostly the heady musk of alpha scent and something earthy and rich in a way that had nothing to do with money. The well-known scent of Bruce, his prime alpha, filled his head with each inhale, spreading down through Jason's body like some visceral warmth.

It calmed him immensely, and Jason was purring softly in approval as he buried his whole face into it, further testing the softness. He ran it over his cheek a few times to be sure, and to try to get more of the scent on himself, but already it had passed the test. It was soft enough, and it smelled pleasing enough.

Jason moved over to the enormous bed that took up most of his room. The omega suite was the largest bedroom in the house. During a heat, that paid off, and Jason was close enough that it would pay off very soon.

He examined the nest he had made for himself thus far critically, a thick padded bedding concocted by meticulously selected and collected bits of fabric from all around the house. His most favorite pillows and blankets, favorite worn shirts, a particularly fluffy dish towel- wrestled from Alfred after it had been pulled fresh out of the laundry- all made up the foundation of the nest he would weather his heat through.

Jason poked and prodded around it a bit, so serious in his task that he was completely silent in it, before selecting a fitting spot for Bruce's pillow. He carefully fluffed and tucked it into the nest, right between an over-sized cashmere sweater that wafted Tim's crisp alpha scent, and a particularly fluffy towel Dick had in his gym bag- rescued and repurposed by Jason, who had nearly whimpered at the smell of the alpha's sweat and pharamones from working out embedded into it.

Jason wanted to rub his face against both again, and everything else his nest had been made of thus far. The need to surround himself with the scents of his alphas nearly had him tumbling into the nest prematurely to roll about, but he still needed a few more pieces.

Jason turned back around, critically eyeing down those gathered in his room, and the possible offerings they had brought with them for the construction of his nest.

It was the usual way of nesting. Omegas were rare. So very rare, in fact, that they typically took on more than just one alpha, building packs out of them, with themselves at the center. Bruce and Dick had been bachelor alphas grouping together when Jason had found and claimed Bruce as his primary alpha. It had not been Bruce's strength, or intelligence, or even his assertiveness that won Jason over in making his claim while but a young boy, years away still from being allowed to mate properly with his chosen. It had been the safety the alpha had projected with every fiber of his being that had done Jason in then, and still did now.

He had been less sure of claiming Dick, but the young alpha had been tenacious and impetuous. Not to mention kind and... incredibly affectionate and had eventually won over the choosy little omega.

When Jason had eventually grown into his official heat in the years to follow, he had shared it with them both, and it had been blissful for all.

It had expanded gradually from there.

Jason allowed himself to look over his gathered alphas leisurely, and they all waited patiently because.... well, because he was their omega. Most alphas failed to ever be picked by an omega for breeding. Many never even got the chance to meet an omega to even try for their attention. So his alphas soaked in his attention when they got it.

Jason let his eyes coast down the line to the newer alphas he had taken on in the last few years. Tim stood calm and assertive, but ready to jump with but one word from the omega his attention was trained upon. Steph and Cass both smiled back at him. Two beautiful smiles, one cheery and the other soft. He had Steph's favorite fleece throw in the pile already. From Cass he had taken a fuzzy pair of house socks, green with little yellow dots on them.

They had more stuff with them to offer in case he needed more, arms loaded down like the others with items they found soft, or held their scent, or that he might have picked before. Jason eyed both piles, but he drifted further down the line.

Duke was his newest chosen. So new that Jason had not yet gotten to add anything of his into the nest before. He was nervous. Nothing about his confident and straight posture suggested nerves, but Jason knew he was anyway as he held up his bits of gathered nesting materials. Jason could feel it through their bond, and he knew if he got close enough he would likely pick it up on the alpha's scent.

He gave a soft omega coo from back in his throat, smile softening when Duke relaxed just a bit and leaned in closer on reflex to the noise, ready to give up anything his omega wanted from him.

Jason would be taking plenty in the next few days. That part was already started, as he perused the pieces Duke held. A bit of soft yellow fabric in the pile caught his eye, and he carefully pulled it out to inspect it. It was a scarf, very soft and warm, and smelling strongly from the scent glands in the Alpha's neck being pressed and rubbed by the fabric.

Jason accepted it with another purr. Duke's smile lifted just a little, barely restrained through the triumph he felt with the acceptance. Jason made his way back to the bed, looking to pick out the best spot for Duke's smell within it.

Once his heat began, the nest would be the entirety of his world. Heats were hard, stressful, and painful to weather through. His comforts would come from what he had put into his nest, and whomever he invited in.

When his body grew demanding he would call in some of his alphas to help him sate the need while the others stood by, ready to assist either Jason or their fellow alphas in whatever way was required. When his body was languid Jason would have the cushion of his prepared nest, and their various familiar scents to seek out and bury his face into, or rub over his heated glands. And then when the heat turned demanding again, as it always did, he would call upon the others that had retained their strength in a swap.

Heats were a bonding experience unlike anything else for a pack, the strongest built around virile omegas like Jason.

Jason found a good spot for the scarf in the bottom left corner of his nest. It would be good to breath in that scent whenever he found himself turned that way, which was inevitable. He had yet to build a nest that wasn’t completely torn back apart by his own hands throughout the course of his heats. As much as he prided himself on the nest he had sculpted, trinkets of his pack stuffed into every corner of it, he felt even more pride in the aftermath, seeing it all scattered about his bed, watching the spent alphas reclaiming their now treasured objects that would be infused with Jason’s heat-scent for the rest of the week.

Jason smirked just at the thought of how Dick could never wait to burry his face in his reclaimed shirts afterwards, or how Steph would purr and hug her own pieces for the rest of that first day after the heat had lifted. Jason felt warm with such gestures, turning back to Bruce to choose another item, starting his progression down the line all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> I ended up going through... a lot. Lost power and internet both at the beginning of this event, and it will likely be another week until I get power back. Internet is estimated to take longer. Have you ever heard of a derecho? I hadn't either.  
> This was the only entry I have saved in my drafts, and a got a moment of data connection to post it. The rest and everything else is going to have to wait.


End file.
